Holmes and Watson: Study in Scarlet
by Watson
Summary: Following the original story from Arthur Conan Doyle, Sherlock Holmes and Laura J. GalahadWatson are college students and roommates, but how can they work togther when they can't even LIVE with each other?
1. Mister Sherlock Holmes

Chapter 1  
  
I spent most my life helping people and healing them. My father taught me that the best things in life came from helping others, a law he fallowed thought his life. He was a former army surgeon from London, but after my mother's death he took up a job in the Peace Corps of South America. This was a job he enjoyed greatly, mostly helping young children. I was his nurse and was happy to do it. Of course my education was the first thing with my father, I was educated through the mail, completing elementary through high school without ever going to a normal classroom. My father kept me at his side always, being highly protective as any father would be. But as any child would be, I got into trouble. It wasn't till I was 18 that my father finally decided that it was time for a change. It happened after I had an unfortunate fall from a tree, injuring my shoulder which resulted in my body contracting a fever that kept me in bed for months. When I was able to stand on my own feet again, my father informed me that he had found me a place in his old college, the catch: it was in London, England. I shipped out before I could argue my case and my father had me living in the hotel until I could find better and less expensive living space. While eating at a local restaurant one day I felt a tap on my shoulder. It was a friend of mine from the tropics, Richard, one of the younger members of the Peace Corps and a former student of the school I was now attending. After a while of catching up, we started on the topic of why I was in London. "Looking for a place to stay right now while I'm going to school," I answered, "And possibly a roommate..."  
  
"Funny that you should bring up that subject," Richard laughed, "I was just talking to a young man about the same thing in the schools science building. He is a student at the same school you've enrolled in. He has a place and is looking for someone to share it with."  
  
"Really?" I said quickly and hopefully, "Well if he is willing to be a roommate with a girl then I'd be happy too..." Richard's face was not all that filled with excitement and my hopes dropped as his face did. "Something wrong?"  
  
"Holmes isn't exactly your type of person," he said softly, "I don't think that you would want him as your roommate."  
  
"Something wrong with him?"  
  
"No, he is a pretty good guy although a little cold. A bit wild in his ideas though and he is not at all afraid to voice them."  
  
"Well what is he studying?"  
  
"I'm not sure actually, I know it's not medical studies. But he is a genius when it comes to chemistry and anatomy, but his studies are eccentric and not in a clear defining major. He is also a hard man to talk to, he'll be very talkative when he wants to be, and often his words are cold and hard without meaning to be I think."  
  
"Well I don't really mind if he isn't all that nice," I shrugged, "I would only need a quiet place to study and to relax." Richard sighed and nodded as we stood.  
  
"He informed me that he was going to go back and rest in his apartment down on Baker Street, above a bookshop I believe, and not far from here," he said as we ventured from the restaurant, "But I must warn you that you can't hold against me if he and you don't get along."  
  
"Of course not," I answered as we walked, "It will be all the more easy to say goodbye if we don't get along. But are you sure that he is all that bad, I mean how bad could he be?"  
  
"Well he is a little to scientific for me," my friend answered, "He is always looking for such exact information, nothing in the gray area, just the straight hard facts. And he always beats things down to their smallest parts, always looking as deep as he can go."  
  
"Doesn't sound so bad to me," I said, "I spent most my life with guys who are into that straight hard fact thing, doctors and military types have that habit you know. But I think I'm the kind of person that could get along with everyone, no one is without a heart. I'm sure he is just misunderstood or something."  
  
"We'll know soon enough," he answered with another sigh, "This is the place, Baker Street, 221B." We stopped in front of a small building and took a door to the side of the shop, walking up a flight of stairs to the apartment above. The apartment had two bedrooms, on either side. A small kitchen and sitting room stood in between them, all furnished and well taken care of. That was my thought before I saw the room on the far end from the door we entered. It was quiet lived in as there were clothes scattered all over along with books, laboratory equipment, and a rather tall boy lying on the bed. The boy moaned and I jumped as he looked at us with a sort of half awake look. His eyes looked at me over his hawk like nose, his lengthy body barely able to fit the bed. "Sherlock Holmes," Richard spoke after a few moments, "I would like to introduce you to Miss Laura J. Galahad. She is looking to become your roommate. Laura, this is Sherlock Holmes."  
  
"Can't you see I'm working," Holmes moaned lifting turning himself on to his back, "Come with news I can use or get out." I leaned over more to look into his face, not able to keep a look of amusement from my features.  
  
"This is what you call working?" I questioned, trying to clear the air, which was no help. Holmes lazily lifted a hand and motioned towards the beakers and other equipment on a near by table (most of it spread out in a mess like the rest of the room).  
  
"I'm working as we speak," the lazy boy said, speaking as he lifted him self off his bed, leading us to the kitchen where he poured himself some coffee, "Not that I expect a girl to understand, especially one from the tropics." For a moment, I was pretty dumfounded at his words, gaping like a fish.  
  
"How did you..." I began but Holmes held up his hand.  
  
"Now if you have no more use of me, I would like to get back to work and you can LEAVE," he said turning to return to his former position, but Richard caught him by the arm.  
  
"Holmes, didn't you listen to me before?"  
  
"I find some information to be of no use to me so I don't listen," Holmes answered pulling his arm away, "But since you seem so inclined, what was this information that you happened to tell me?"  
  
"Miss Laura is looking for a roommate and I thought she could stay here with you..."  
  
"No," Holmes answered flatly walking back to his room, again with us fallowing.  
  
"But she is a good person and she won't be any trouble."  
  
"No."  
  
"She is quiet and she only needs a place to stay."  
  
"No."  
  
"She is studying at the same school you are and it would be beneficial to you both if she was here. To cut down the price of living here of course, just think of the money you could save!"  
  
"No."  
  
"Is it because I'm a female?" I asked and Holmes turned to me. I could tell I hit the spot as I saw his eyes look at me.  
  
"Yes, yes it is," Holmes said breaking his continuous rejection of our words, "I don't like women and I especially don't like girls with ideas like they can change the world by just being 'caring' and 'good'. They are stuffy, unintelligent, and often are the true reason for corruption in men." I was surprised that he could say such a thing with a straight face, although I kept one of my own. "Besides, I'm not in the mood to be anyone's friend, companion, or roommate," he continued, "I wish to be alone to my work, now and forever."  
  
"All I need is a place to stay," I said in a partially sweet begging fashion, "We don't have to keep any relations if you don't want to. It would be nice to have someone to talk to of course. We could just stay here together and share the cost of living here. I don't want you to think that I wish to cause you any trouble in your work. But I really need a place to stay. It would be as if I wasn't here." Holmes looked at me, studying me like a vulture studies food. I couldn't help a gulp as I watched his cold eyes look into mine. After a moment he sighed, rubbing his brow with his hand.  
  
"Fine, if you really need a place to stay..." He started, but then paused, "You promise that you are quiet and will leave me to my work?"  
  
"Of course," I promised.  
  
"And what do you think of violin playing?"  
  
"I love classical music," I answered truthfully, "Of course bad playing should be a..."  
  
"And you have no objections to smoking?" Holmes interrupted quickly, as if to keep me quiet.  
  
"I guess not," I answered slowly, "My father use to smoke cigars so I guess I'm use to it."  
  
"You can move in tomorrow," Holmes said quickly lying down in his bed again, face in his pillow so we were unable to see it. I looked to Richard as he looked to me. We both shrugged; guess that was our cue to leave. As we turned Holmes lifted himself again.  
  
"And by the way Miss Galahad," Holmes said quickly making me stop, "I don't get up any time before ten a.m., noon if I get back late. If you wake me I can be very cranky." Once he had finished, Holmes, smashed his face back into the pillow. I looked to Richard, one eyebrow rising in joking fashion.  
  
"He gets crankier?" Richard shrugged as we left Holmes to his 'work'. I guess it was too early to tell who Holmes really was, although something about him was nagging me in the back of my mind. Sherlock Holmes was a character I had never met before and to put it in simple words, I had a new fascination with Holmes. A fascination that would pull me to a place I never had been before. 


	2. The Science of Deduction

Chapter 2  
  
I moved in the next day, taking the room to the far end of the apartment. On the first day I discovered that the sitting room had a couple large windows which Holmes kept covered up for one reason or another. When I opened them, the rooms instantly brightened up, much to Holmes's headache, as he awoke to the sun drifting through his door. For the first day or two, I was too busy to worry about Holmes and he wasn't too much of a talker even afterwards. Sometimes he wouldn't speak at all, just lie on his bed or be off in the laboratory. I would have thought he was addicted to some drug if I hadn't known what kind of a person he was. His expression was like a dreamy, vacant one, which would have made me think he was into more then cigarettes (which he spent a lot of time smoking outside). His hands were often covered with chemicals but he was very gentle with everything.  
Other then those points and others to come later, I had decided one more thing on my roommate: Sherlock Holmes was a complete and utter jerk. Every meeting that we had ended with a cold muttering coming from his mouth, he didn't have anything nice to say and yet he would always voice it. It took all my power not to strangle him. He was defiantly not looking for a friend as he had told me. Sometimes he would complain about the smallest thing, as if I, the 'female', was suppose to be at his every whim as he was this super genius.  
I figured out quickly that he wasn't studying medicine, but some other science that I couldn't pinpoint. Whenever his door was closed he was working on something, what I could never tell. If I even bumped into the door, a cold voice would tell me to go away. Even though he was smart, he had no knowledge of popular culture or anything else that he found 'useless'. When I told him about Harry Potter and the fantastic books of R.W. Rowling, he had this to say:  
  
"Now that I do know it I will try my best to forget it."  
  
"What?" I replied in both annoyance and a bit of anger at this cold reply.  
  
"Fools retain information they don't need," Holmes said with a smirk, as if he was implying that I was the fool, "It crowds out the information that they really need. Meanwhile the skillful man will retain the information that will help him in his work, giving him all the more power to what he does. Now if you are finished bothering me with such useless information, I'm late for class..."  
  
That was another thing about Holmes; he would be constantly late to class and just skip all morning class. He would never be up before ten as he told me before, but would be in bed before ten pm. But his crankiness would persist all day. In the end I decided to make a list to try to determine who my roommate really was:  
  
Knowledge of Popular Literature: Nothing Knowledge of Astronomy: Nothing Knowledge of Politics: Some Knowledge of Plant Life: All the poisonous plants known to man, possibly some not known. Knowledge of Geology: Somewhat but not a whole lot. Knowledge of Chemistry: Genius Knowledge of Anatomy: Some Plays the violin (Plays well but not to any of my requests, often his playing reflecting his mood). Great boxer (The one thing we truly have in common, as I was into kickboxing back home) and fencer. Knowledge of Law: Some Knowledge of how to be polite: Absolutely NOTHING!  
  
As soon as I had finished my list, I threw it into the fire. I had come  
no closer to figuring out how the mind of Sherlock Holmes worked then when I had started and while I thought of Holmes as this cold and rude being from the black lagoon, he did have quiet a few visitors. Not only did he have a lot of them, but each one was different from the next. One day it would be a well- off looking lady, the next it would be an older man that looked like he had worked all his life. One of the many visitors was a rat like young man with dark eyes, by the name of Mr. Lestrade, who I discovered was studying law. Who ever it was, I wasn't allowed to enter the sitting room when Holmes was with his 'guests'. He wouldn't let me listen in on any conversation and never apologized for anything he did. This only fueled me to figure out what business Holmes was in. But I never asked as the time never came up too.  
  
After a month of living with the jerk, I woke up one morning to find Holmes had actually got up at a normal hour, if you could call it 'up'. His head lay on the kitchen table, arms stretched out and half filled coffee mug in his hand. When I lifted on of the limp arms, it limply fell to the table as I released it. I shook my head with a sigh, getting some tea for myself and to settle down at the other end of the table to read the newspaper. One article caught my attention almost immediately and I somehow laughed at it pompousness and rather cold words. It reminded me of someone... "Something actually funny in the news this morning?" Holmes asked, raising his head to look at me "Has the world finally come to an end, because I believe that will the time that there is any good news in this world..."  
  
"Just an article this morning," I answered, "It seems like someone has too much time on their hands. Most likely someone with lots of money and time to examine the world without another thought to who it might be hurting." Holmes instantly snatched the paper from my hands and took a looked at the article.  
  
"Well you wouldn't be too far off on the time thing of course I wouldn't bet on the money thing if I were you," he answered handing the paper back to me as he lay his head down on the table once again.  
  
"How would you know that?"  
  
"Because I wrote it," Holmes answered, his voice muffled by the table.  
  
"You?" I asked surprised.  
  
"Yes, my who career has been observation and deduction, the ideas I wrote in that article. Again I can't expect you to understand such a thing, since you are just the person who wouldn't pay attention to that sort of thing. People like you have a hard time opening their eyes." I frowned, rolling up the news paper and hitting him over the head with it in annoyance. He raised his head again, this time to glare at me.  
  
"I wouldn't be to ready to judge a person's character Holmes," I said standing and moving just to get any from him, "You not exactly the great model for the human species either."  
  
"And I don't pretend to be," he answered raising himself from the table as well, "But as a consulting detective, I believe I have a little more experience in the matter then you." I tilted my head a little to look at him.  
  
"Consulting detective?"  
  
"I help those stupid fellows from the government find the right sent when they've lost it. Lestrade, who I've seen you conversing with even after I asked you not to, is a student of law and an intern for the police force. He fancies himself a detective I guess although he isn't any of the sorts."  
  
"What about all those other people?"  
  
"They are sent by other agencies, mostly private detectives and what not. They are all in trouble and just want some help in their problem. I listen, tell them what to do, and then they pay me. I don't have to care or anything, just listen and speak the truth."  
  
"So your saying that you can figure out a problem by just listening to a person tell it to you?" I asked, and then chuckled, "Sounds like you are like the original Sherlock Holmes, you know, the one from the books..."  
  
"I am the only and original Sherlock Holmes," he answered coldly turning walking into the sitting room, looking at me firmly and closely, "That Sherlock Holmes was created by Conan Doyle and portrayed by Jeremy Brett. He doesn't exist. And as for your other question, yes I can. You remember when I told you that you had just been coming from the tropics and you were astonished." I could hear the cheerfulness in his voice as I watched from the door way. He sat down in his chair, looking at me with eyes that told me that he already knew the answer but he wanted to hear it from me, just to make himself feel more important or something.  
  
"You were told right?"  
  
"No, I wasn't. I knew that you had come from the tropics by just looking at your person. First I figured out that you were a writer but you had an air of some military about you but you weren't military in you voice or actions. There for you had grown up around the military or a member of your family was military, possibly a parent. Your skin was tan, but from your wrists that were a lighter color I could tell it wasn't your original color. Your face suggested that you had, at sometime, been ill. You hold your shoulder stiffly as if you have injured it in the past. Then I asked myself, where could a young girl that has connections to the military and has that kind of tan get hurt? The tropics where I hear the Peace Corps are doing incredible work. So as you can see, I am not without Merit and know how to judge a person well, unlike some in this room." I watched how his eyes sparkled as he told me how he had figured me out. I guess I was astonished but I wasn't about to allow him the satisfaction (though by his look I could tell he already had it).  
  
"What are you looking for an award?" I asked coldly, taking a sip from my tea, "Because I don't believe they give awards to conceited people..."  
  
"You never know," he answered smirking, "Of course I could be famous if I wanted too, I don't think anyone has put such devotion to this topic as I have. I bet you can't name on man who could do the same things I co-"  
  
"Someone is coming," I said quickly looking out the window, interrupting my companion as a way to shut him up, "and he stopping at our door." Holmes came to the window, looking down on the plainly-dressed man, who studied the number on our door then let out a sigh of relief. In his hand was a large blue envelope, and Holmes shrugged.  
  
"A retired sergeant of the marines," Holmes said and I frowned once again. I punched his shoulder in annoyance of his cocky attitude turning to go get the door as I heard the bell ring. Holmes watched after me angrily as he rubbed his wounded shoulder. I opened the door for the man who stepped in.  
  
"I have a message for Mister Sherlock Holmes," he said, marching over to Holmes and giving the letter to my roommate. At that moment I realized that could cut down Holmes's cold confidence and as the man turned to leave I caught him by the arm.  
  
"Excuse me for asking, but what is your job?"  
  
"Commissionaire, Miss," he answered, "My uniform is away for repair."  
  
"And what were you during your service?"  
  
"A sergeant, Miss," he stated, "Royal Marine Light Infantry." With a click of his heels he raised his hand in salute and left. Holmes smirked and quickly turned into his room. Most likely to get away from me, as I wanted to just wipe that smirk off his face with my fist. 


	3. The Lauriston Garden Mystery

Chapter 3  
  
I fallowed him into the room, curious to know just how he had stumped me again (and, I must confess, that I was in the mood to introduce my fist to his face). "How did you know that he was a sergeant?"  
  
"How did I know who was a sergeant?" Holmes asked, not looking at me but trying to look through the envelope by holding it up to the light.  
  
"That guy that was just here, how did you know he was a sergeant?"  
  
"Would you please not bother me right now with your annoying questions?!" Holmes answered finally looking to me, with eyes cold in annoyance, "Your breaking my concentration! You wouldn't understand it anyway..." To enforce my point, to let him know that he was getting on my nerves, I snatched the envelope from his hand, which he snatched for but I held it captive, out of his reach.  
  
"Try me," I challenged him and he sighed, once again vainly trying to snatch the envelope back. I danced backwards and he chased, but I am much more athletic then he is and I was able to keep out of his grasp. He chased me into the sitting room where I stood on the edge of the couch high above him, holding the letter above my head. He again sighed in annoyance as I smirked.  
  
"If I tell you will you give me back my letter?" he asked annoyed. I nodded and he sighed yet again. "I could see the great blue tattoo of an anchor on his hand, even from the far away window. He carried himself like a military man and his whiskers were shaved in regulation style. From this information I could tell he was a Marine. Yet he had some amount of self-importance in his stride, with his head held high and his strides steady and in a respectable manner. He was a middle-aged man and with all this information I deduced that he was a sergeant." I had to admit that it took a moment for everything to sink in, leaving me a bit confused. But as he tried to snatch the letter again I leapt from the couch as he fell on it. Once again he sighed as he leaned his head on his hand, watching me open it. "You know your tampering with the mail," he told me in drone like voice, "It's against the law."  
  
"You know that you are a jerk and sigh a lot," I answered looking over the letter in my hands. Holmes growled getting to his feet and starting to chase me around the room again. "Dear Holmes," I began to read out loud, dodging Holmes while reading, "There has been a murder at 3 Lauriston Gardens, off of Brixton Road. One of the officers saw a light one in one of the empty flats and when he went to investigate, he discovered a the body of a well dressed man with playing cards in his pocket. The cards were signed with 'Enoch J. Drebber, Cleveland, Ohio, U.S.A'. There has been no evidence of robbery and there are no signs of how the man died. There is blood in the room but there is no wound on the victim. We are at a loss for how this man got in or why this man was in the empty apartment and if you could come around any time before 12, it would be greatly appreciated. I will give you fuller details when you arrive. Lestrade and I would greatly grateful if you were to shed some light on this case. Yours faithfully Tobias Gregson." By the time I was finished, Holmes finally just resorted to tackle my knees. I fell on my back and he grabbed the letter, looking it over.  
  
"I'm surprised Gregson would ask for my help," Holmes commented after a minuet, throwing the letter over his shoulder and on to the floor, "Him and Lestrade are no more then jealous professionals, trying to one up each other at each turn. Both of them have the energy but not the real talent for the job." He took a seat in a nearby arm chair and I stood taking the letter with me.  
  
"So when are you leaving?"  
  
"Why should I? It's not like I'm going to get any credit for anything I do there and any credit I could get there, Gregson and Lestrade will just suck it up like vacuum cleaners."  
  
"But they are asking for your help and this could be your big break. You could be bigger then you are now." Holmes looked at me as if I had no idea what I was talking about and now it was my turn to sigh. "Fine, you may not want to help but I will!" He laughed as I grabbed my coat and scarf from the near by coat wrack.  
  
"And what do you think you are going to do? You have no talent for this kind of thing; you have got any talent in anything..."  
  
"I'll say something," I said smiling, "I mean I could just say I learned it all from you. Just think what the paper will say about you then when I tell them that the famous, young consulting detective Sherlock Holmes trained an idiot in the field of detective work." I could see his face pale just as I closed the door behind me. I could count the seconds on one hand before he opened the door, pulling on his coat quickly and passing by me in the hallway.  
  
"Your exasperating you know that?" he told me as we hurried out onto the street and haled a cab. I smiled again. Holmes may have been the master of deduction but he could never push his buttons like I could. Soon we stopped on Brixton road as the letter instructed. As we stepped out onto the street, I expected Holmes to go charging in, being his own conceited self and rattling off his deductions. But he stopped and searched the grounds around the building, letting out noises of excitement at points along the path. The building itself and all the houses around it were not all that great to look at themselves. They all were the same size, shape, and color, with abnormally shaped bushes as dividers between them. People peaked out of their buildings, dressed in their pajamas, just to catch a glimpse of what was going on. I never could figure out what people found so interesting in murder scenes. I had seen dead bodies before and there was nothing interesting about them at all. I looked up as Holmes finally stopped looking at the ground and sky, and started towards the building. I fallowed, keeping close to Holmes as the police bustled about. Instantly we were met at the door way but a small mouse of a young man. His hair was a silver color; something that I figured was a dye or bleached in the sun. Either way, he was meek looking, with a pencil and pad in his hand. He shook Holmes's hand in excitement, although Holmes didn't seem to return the feeling.  
  
"I'm so glad you came," the young man said quickly, "I really wasn't expecting you to come, I figured you would have better things to do with your time then come help me."  
  
"Well I wasn't going to..." Holmes mumbled, sending me a cold look, at which I rolled my eyes. The young man blinked his eyes in a slight confusion.  
  
"I know Holmes but I don't think I know you..." he said with a soft smile, "Tobias Gregson, and you must be a womanly friend of Holmes's, possibly his new girlfriend?" At this suggestion, Holmes burst out into laughter as if Gregson had made the funniest joke in history. I glared at Holmes as he leaned against the wall to catch his breath and stop laughing. I smiled at Gregson however shaking his hand.  
  
"No, I'm Laura J. Galahad," I told him, "and I'm just his roommate."  
  
"Just his roommate?"  
  
"Yes, because I don't date spawns of the devil," I answered coolly, looking to Holmes who was finally able to calm himself.  
  
"Spawns of the devil?" Gregson wondered out loud scratching his head.  
  
"You haven't touched the body have you?" Holmes asked his voice calm now and ignoring Gregson's question. Gregson shook his head.  
  
"No one has touched the body; we wanted to wait to see if you would come."  
  
"And Lestrade is here?"  
  
"Yes he is and he is looking after things as we speak. But I think I have taken care of everything that can be possibly done in this situation..."  
  
"You didn't come by a car or cab did you?" Holmes asked.  
  
"No but why is that..."  
  
"And Lestrade didn't come in one either did he?"  
  
"No..." Holmes smiled ignoring the confused looks on our faces and just passed by us without another word. We fallowed, not at all clear on what he was trying to get at.  
  
"What does the fact that they didn't come in cars have to do with this?" I asked Holmes softly but he didn't answer. We walked down the hallway into a large square room, one as ugly as the outside of the building. Ugly and dull paper was all over the walls, with a bit of wear from the many year of abuse or not being taken care of properly. There was a fire place, surrounded by the fakest looking marble I have ever seen, with a large blotch of candle wax on the right edge of the mantle. The light was hazy in the room because there was only one window and it was covered with dust, just like the dust that covered the rest of the apartment.  
  
I looked at all the little details afterwards, before that I was looking to the grim, motionless figure on the ground in the center of the room. His eyes seemed to stare straight at me yet were unseeing. An older man with black curly hair, and a similarly colored goatee. It wasn't the fact that there was a dead man in front of me that struck me in the heart but how his face was contorted into horrid and fearful like shapes, as if his death had been a terrible one. His ape like face was almost perfect for his irregular body that was now laying there in an unnatural pose. As I said before, as the daughter of a doctor, I have come face to face with death in many forms. But never so much as on that very day, something about it just didn't feel right. I back away slightly and I guess I paled a little because Gregson looked to me in concern. "Are you alright Miss Galahad?" he asked taking my arm, "Would you like some water or to go out for some air?"  
  
"No I'm fine," I answered, smiling to stop his worrying.  
  
"I'm surprised that you would bring a female to a murder scene, Holmes," the familiar voice of Lestrade said, his ferret like figure coming into view, "Although I'm surprised that you would even think of bringing a woman at all." Holmes shook his head kneeling down next to the body.  
  
"It was not my idea, I assure you," he answered getting face to face with the body, "Are you sure that there is no wound, and all this blood around the room is not the victims?"  
  
"Positive," Lestrade answered.  
  
"Then of course the blood must belong to the murder or not considering this may not be a murder." Holmes then once again began to examine the body silently as he had done outside, taking one moment to sniff the man's lips. He also took a look at the man's leather boots, examining the souls carefully. "He hasn't been moved at all?" Holmes asked again.  
  
"Not any more then needed," Gregson answered again.  
  
"Then you can take him to the morgue now," Homes said standing, "There is nothing more that can be learned from him." Instantly the body was removed quickly with a gurney. As the body was lifted a ring tumbled out onto the floor, possibly from the dead man's pocket. Instantly Lestrade grabbed it in his greedy hands.  
  
"A woman!" he cried, "There must have been a woman here, this a woman's wedding ring!"  
  
"Well if things were complicated enough..." Gregson sighed.  
  
"That's why we must simplify them," Holmes said quickly, "Is there anything else that you found in his pockets?"  
  
"A gold watch; a gold pin with the head of a bulldog with ruby eyes; a leather card case (possibly Russian) with the name Enoch J. Drebber on the front and his initials on the side; No wallet but a bunch of loose change in his pockets; and two letters addressed to E. J. Drebber and one to Joseph Stangerson," Gregson rattled off, "It's all here if you want to look at it."  
  
"What were the addresses?" Holmes asked.  
  
"Both were from the George and Gene Shipping Company, referring to their boats from Liverpool. They were both going to head back to New York..."  
  
"Have you found out who Stangerson is?"  
  
"I sent out an all points bulletin this morning," Gregson answered, "But I haven't got anything back yet, we also sent a telegram to Cleveland as well detailing the situation and if they could send us any help to send it quick."  
  
"Did you ask any particulars?"  
  
"I asked about Stangerson but nothing much else."  
  
"Well I guess you have said all that you are going to say then hmmm?" Gregson nodded his head and Holmes chuckled. "Then I guess I'll have to do all the questioning won't I?" Holmes continued his examination, looking around the room. He stopped at a particular section of the wall and stood there for a moment studying it. "Miss Laura!" he called to me, "Come and stand here!" He pointed to a spot and with a sigh, I walked to that spot.  
  
"I'm only doing this because I believe I'm going to catch a murderer and help somebody," I told him, "Normally I wouldn't let you order me to do anything if it weren't for that-"  
  
"Would you be quiet and just look forward?" Holmes interrupted quickly with his annoyed voice. I sighed again but reluctantly looked forward. As I said before, the wallpaper was falling away in some places and in this one corner, a large piece had fallen away to revel something that looked like letters written in blood. I had a blink a few times to realize that there was a word written on the wall. It spelled out one word:  
  
RACHE  
  
"Now what do you say to that?" my roommate asked as Gregson and Lestrade came over to join us, "It was over looked as it was in the darker corner of the room and was written with the writers blood. You can tell that by the trickle here, right where it has been smeared. We now know it was suicide. And why do you think he chose to write in this corner? Because at the time he had the candle on the corner of the mantle and it lit up this corner, making it the brightest and not the darkest part of the room." I couldn't help but roll my eyes at the fact that Holmes sounded so much like he was standing in front of a classroom full of his DUMB students. My feelings of disgust were only built on as I saw his smug look. He could have been a little nicer about it, I remember thinking as I went back to looking at the wall as to not let him get a boost from seeing me annoyed (as I knew he would).  
  
"So what do we do with now that WE'VE found it?" Gregson asked.  
  
"WE'VE?" I asked. But my question went without answer as Lestrade stepped forward to look at the wall closer.  
  
"Well it has to be Rachel," Lestrade finally said after a few moments, "The writer began to write the female name Rachel when he was interrupted and couldn't finish it. It would explain the wedding ring. I bet you that this Rachel has some thing to do with- Laughing doesn't help any thing Holmes!" Holmes had burst out into laughter listening to the law student bather on. I must admit, I had to giggle as Lestrade's face grew redder and redder in anger with each passing minuet.  
  
"Sorry Lestrade," Holmes said after a moment to calm himself, "You have all the credit for figuring out the information that it must have been written by the other participant in last night's deed. But if I could examine a little more, I might be able to shed a little more light on what really happened here..." Holmes had his investigation even before Lestrade had told him he could go a head, moving about the room, kneeling once in a while, and one time laying flat on his face on the floor. He forgot we were there as he muttered to himself things no one else could hear, not that they would have likely made sense to anyone else but him anyway. He reminded me of some kind of bloodhound, tracing back and forth looking for a sent. He somehow was able to determine measurements between invisible marks on the ground and he once in a while tapped on the walls, making his investigation even more confusing. He took a sample of dust from the mantle and put in a police baggy. His final observation was taking a magnifying glass to the wall going over every letter of the word with the most exactness I had ever seen a human give to a subject. After that he let out a satisfied sigh and once again joined reality but flashing his devilish smile to me. I frowned, but didn't look away. Gregson and Lestrade stood on their toes waiting for Holmes to 'give' them the answer.  
  
"Well?" Lestrade said anxiously.  
  
"I wouldn't want to rob you of any credit you may get boys," Holmes answered, "Your doing so well so far, but you know I will be happy to give you any help I can. Of course I would like to talk to the officer who found him. Do you know where I might find him?"  
  
"46, Audley Court, Kennington Park Gate," Gregson answered, "We sent him home soon after we questioned him." Holmes nodded, with a smirk turning towards the door.  
  
"I suppose you'll be joining me Laura," Holmes said coolly looking back over his shoulder at me, "Being a busy body seems to be what you do best isn't it?" I frowned deeper, bringing my shoulders up as I often did when I get mad.  
  
"Spawn of Satan..." I growled. I did fallow him but he and I paused next to him. I saw a sparkle in his eyes as he turned to Lestrade and Gregson, who still stood waiting intently.  
  
"There has been a murder here gentlemen," Holmes said, his voice confident, "I believe the murder was more then six feet high, a younger man. He had small feet, on which were worn down square-toed boots. He also smoked a cigar, the old Trichinopoly brand. He came here with his victim in a cab which had one new tire and three older ones. His nails on his right hand were remarkably long as well. I'm sure these clues will help you get a better idea of what your dealing with."  
  
"Wait a minuet!" Gregson said quickly and loudly, "If it was a murder, how was it done?" Holmes's smile grew wider.  
  
"Poison," he said quickly as he turned to leave again. But he again turned back as if he had nearly forgotten something but at the same time hadn't. "By the way Lestrade," he said looking straight at the man in question, "'Rache' is the German word for 'revenge', so don't go and get lost looking for Miss Rachel. Don't want to waist any of the government's money now do we?" With that final parting shot, Holmes strutted out of the building. And I fallowed him, although I wished I had stayed sometimes, I would have loved to see the open mouthed expressions of the two rivals now left in the dust. 


	4. What John Rance Had to Tell

Chapter 4  
  
I heard bells ringing, signaling that it was one o'clock. I waited outside a telegraph office as Holmes stopped to send a 'quick' message as he said. It wasn't quick; he must have been writing a letter or something. But I didn't complain as he came out. As we walked along to our destination, I studied his face. He looked to be thinking, deeply, I could only imagine the wheels running around in his head. Of course I could tell that he was calculating the case and planning many ways to be a show off. I think I despised him then, thinking about how his narrow mind was calculating the facts as we walked. But then I laughed as the thought of a hamster wheel running around in Holmes's pointy head popped through my mind. Holmes looked at me questionably. "What's so funny?" he asked. I lowered my laugh to a chuckle looking at him.  
  
"How did you know all that stuff?" I asked, ignoring his question, "How did you know all that stuff about the murderer?"  
  
"Why should I tell you?" he asked rather coldly looking away, moving at a quicker pace to get away from me. I frowned, angry that he was again being rude (although I had become use to it by now).  
  
"Fine!" I cried, standing and watching him walk away, about ready to just run up and tackle him.  
  
"FINE!" he called back louder and angrier as he kept walking. I watched as he walked away. Soon he stopped and just stood there, not looking back at me. I studied his figure as he just stood there with his hands in his coat pockets and his shoulders back. Then he said something I couldn't understand, it was soft and mumbled.  
  
"What?"  
  
"I saw two ruts where two wheels came close to the curb," he said again, still not looking at me, "Since we really haven't had any rain up till last night I knew that the ruts had to have been caused last night, since it was there after the rain began and not in the morning. There was one clearly cut tire mark out of all of them suggesting that it was a new tire..." I listened quietly before walking up beside him. His face was turned away from me as I tired to look up into him. Something strange came over me at that moment, some strange thought that maybe in the deepest of his heart this was a young man who didn't want to be alone.  
  
"Would it be too forward of me to ask how you knew the other's man height?"  
  
"I won't waste time by telling you my figures, but I calculated his strides which often enough depict the height of a man. I discovered this information from the marks outside and inside. The way I checked my calculated my figures was by the markings on the wall, since the instinct would be to write at his eye level, so since the writing was six feet from the ground I naturally observed that he was six feet."  
  
"And what about his age?"  
  
"Don't you have anything else to do then to question my judgments?!" Holmes suddenly cried, so coldly it made me jump back. I think it scared Holmes himself as his eyes were wide as he looked at me, some kind of fear sparkling in them, but I wasn't sure what to make of it. He looked away again, breathing slightly labored. "If a man can move four and half feet without an effort, I'd say he was in the best of health," Holmes said after the pause, "He stepped in a puddle outside and left marks of a leather boot going around. As for his nails, the writing was done with a man's forefinger dipped in blood. My magnifying glass helped me to distinguish the plaster on the wall was scratched and that wouldn't have happened if the man's nail was trimmed. There was the cigar ash on the floor and I figured it to be a Trichinopoly." I watched him as he talked, I could tell he had some enjoyment in telling me this investigation and yet at the same time I could hear sadness in his voice that I hadn't heard there before, like he was ashamed of something, something about his work. I smiled softly; I guess I felt caring at that moment, although in the past all Holmes had ever done was make me angry. As I said before my life has always been about caring for others, and at that moment I guess I wanted to assume that he wanted someone. I didn't even realize I had taken his hand. He looked down at me, and quickly pulled his hand away. I came back to reality and blushed quickly. "Don't think because you are here you can take liberties," Holmes told me coldly. I sighed as once again Holmes was his cocky self.  
  
"Well we have to get along somehow?" I told him, looking at him, softer then normal. He just glared.  
  
"How about this? You stay out of my business and I stay out of your face!" he told me, again coldly, walking away. I watched as he walked away, a strange feeling coming over me again.  
  
"You could try to be a little more friendly to people!" I called to him.  
  
"What?!" he called back, turning all the way around to face me. I smiled softly again.  
  
"People would respect you more if your were a bit more friendly," I told him softly, "You might actually have a chance to really make yourself into something. People would really want help from a guy who could both help them with their problems and understand how they feel you know? I think that's all anybody wants." I knew he heard me because I could see the acknowledgement in his eyes.  
  
"I didn't get to where I am by being nice," he answered, "but I will take your advice to mind Laura." I smiled again.  
  
"That's that the first time you just called me Laura..." He seemed to be slightly surprised by himself as well.  
  
"It's the first time you've ever had anything intelligent to say," he answered with his trade mark smirk, turning back to me once again. We began to walk again, not talking this time, with me a few meters behind him. There was a strange silence between us all the way to our destination. Standing on the doorstep of Audley Court, we waited after Holmes rang the bell.  
  
"So I guess all we have left to do is to figure out how these two men came to be in the empty apartment? Why this murder was committed? Why the woman's ring? And why should someone write the word RACHE on the wall before leaving?" I said, breaking the silence. Holmes sighed again look at the door, avoiding looking at me.  
  
"Well I can tell you is that the man was not German, he over did the use of the Latin characters, more commonly used by a real German. I think this murderer is trying to send the police off the right track. But I'm sure he wasn't expecting me..." I would have answered this cocky insight, but the door opened a bit. Through the crack where the latch lock held the door, an older man with a way-too-short robe (with nothing under it) glared at us with distaste.  
  
"What ever you're selling kids I'm not buying..." the man said moving to shut the door, but Holmes stopped it with his arm.  
  
"We were looking for more information about the Lauriston Mystery..."  
  
"I told all I know to the police," the man answered, who I now figured was Race (in all his disgust). Holmes pulled some cash from his pocket and held it in front of Rance's face.  
  
"I think you could help us a little more don't you think?" Race starred at the money for a while, and then instantly unlocked the door and opened it so we could both come in. We entered into a small apartment, filthy as an apartment could possibly be.  
  
"Go on and take a seat!" Rance called as he walked to the near by kitchen, "Would you kids like anything to drink?"  
  
"No thank you," I answered, very quickly. It was hard to find a place to sit, I had to remove a pair of boxers from a near by chair with my finger tips. Holmes seemed unaffected by the mess, and I was reminded that he lived like this himself. But compared to this guy, Holmes was a neat freak.  
  
"No thanks," Holmes answered sitting on the sofa. Rance returned from the kitchen with what looked like a cheap beer and chugged it while taking a seat much to close to me. With a giant burp he looked to me. I tried to keep my face neutral, to hide my great disgust for this slob, and the fact that my stomach was turning with each smell of his breath that drifted past my nose.  
  
"Relax babe," Rance told me but I found no way that was happening in that apartment.  
  
"What happened last night, when you discovered the body?" Holmes said pulling the conversation back to the point (thankfully).  
  
"Well my beat is from ten to at least six in the morning. There was a fight at eleven but other then that it was quiet. It started to rain around one and I met Harry down on the Holland Grove beat. We stood on the corner together of Henrietta Street, talkin' about nothin' really. Maybe a little after two, I decided to take a look down around Brixton road. I didn't meat anyone and it was extremely lonely out there, all that was there were a couple cabs passing me by. Suddenly a light caught my eye. It was the empty Lauriston Garden's place. Well I knew that no one had been living in that place since it was where an old guy died and had been left to rot for a while causing such a mess that they had to clean out the place then keep a closed. I went to the door..."  
  
"But you stopped and turned around again, moving back towards the gate," Holmes interjected. It wasn't a surprise to me to recognize the surprise on Rance's face.  
  
"It was such a lonely beat," Rance began again, "And I ain't afraid of nothing from the other side of the grave, but when a old man dies in such a horrible way as this old man did I was figuring there might be still some bad vibes from the place. So I went back to the gate to see if I could get Henry and his lantern to join me but I didn't see anyone around.  
  
"So there was no one on the street before you went in?"  
  
"Not a living soul, so I pulled myself together and went in. It was so quiet inside and when I got to the room where the candle was burning, a red wax one, I saw it-"  
  
"I know you saw it," Holmes answered sitting back, "You walked around the room looking at things, then you knelt down to the body, and then you walked through the kitchen door..."  
  
"I think you know a little more then you are supposed to boy," Rance said rather coldly. Holmes just laughed.  
  
"I'm sure you would arrest me for murder now I guess," my roommate joked, "But I'm one of the good guys, I'm working with Lestrade and Gregson. Now what did you do next?"  
  
"I went back to the gate," Rance then continued, still a little shaken, "I blew my whistle calling Henry and two more officers with him."  
  
"Was the street empty at this time?" Holmes questioned.  
  
"Well no one that was important to the case at hand I think."  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"Well there was a drunk stumbling through the streets," at this Rance's features brightened into a smile, "Now I have seen plenty of drunks in my time but no one quiet as drunk as this. Singing as loud and as high as he could, stumbling down the street and wavering about. He wasn't able to stand little less help us."  
  
"What sort of man was he?"  
  
"He was a drunk," Rance answered matter of factly, "He's lucky we didn't bring him in, but we were so busy at the time, we didn't even think of it."  
  
"His face and his dress, what were they like?" Holmes asked rather impatiently.  
  
"I did notice them as me and Henry was forced to prop him up between us and carry him out of there. He was a tall chap, a red face-"  
  
"That will do Mister Rance," Holmes came in quickly, "What happened to him after you carried him away?"  
  
"I guess he found his way home for the night as we didn't have anytime to take care of him..."  
  
"How was he dressed?"  
  
"A brown coat I think."  
  
"Did he have keys or anything in his hands?"  
  
"Keys? No, no keys."  
  
"He must have left it with the cab..." Holmes muttered, "Did you see or hear a cab after that?"  
  
"No."  
  
"I'm glad you could shine some light on this situation Mister Rance," Holmes said standing, "And here is your money. But I'm afraid that you could have had even more money and your sergeant stripes last night if you had only held on to that drunken friend of yours. Because that man, whom you and Mister Henry held in your arms, held a clue to the murder. Come on Laura." We walked out without another word leaving Rance behind in his dirty, filth covered, and mess room. We caught a cab and Holmes ordered the cabby back to Bakerstreet. "Poor fool," Holmes sighed, "He had ever chance in the world to catch a criminal and he didn't just at the chance."  
  
"Well not all people are as 'enlightened' as you Holmes," I told him, "But what I can't understand is why the man would come back to the scene of the murder?"  
  
"That ring!" Holmes said as if I should have known already, "Of course I guess it's well enough, if we can't catch him any other way, we can use the ring as bait. But now I think it's all just a study in scarlet, the red thread of murder that must be untwined, piece by piece till we can discover who holds the thread. Now I'll only be stopping at home for a quick lunch and then I'll be leaving for a concert so don't expect to be seeing too much of me." I nodded, not really caring for what he was telling me but just studying his face as he looked at the window. I had learned a great deal from my roommate today, especially about his character. As there were still cords to unravel in this mystery, I was still unraveling the cord that was Sherlock Holmes. 


	5. Our Advertisement Brings a Visitor

Chapter 5  
  
Once back at Barkerstreet, Holmes did as he said he was going to do and left after a light lunch. I lay on the couch, being a bit tired out from all the mornings' excitement I tried to go to sleep. When that didn't work I decided to read, but I couldn't keep my mind on the words. I just kept thinking back to the murder and Holmes. Every time I closed my eyes the pictures would all come back and I would jump awake again. I was not expecting any of this when I agreed to be Holmes's roommate and now I was starting to worry that I may have gotten my self into something much more serious then I originally thought.  
  
Holmes got back late that night, much later then I thought he would be even with the concert. I pretended to sleep as he came in, not wanting him to know that I was even thinking of waiting up for him. But of course being Sherlock Holmes, he sighed and dropped a paper down in front of my face. "Read it," was all he said as he turned to the kitchen. I sat up, took the paper and looked at it. He had highlighted something in the 'lost and found' and I read it. Instantly I was up and over to the kitchen in less then a nano-second.  
  
"What is this?" I growled.  
  
"Do you think the milk is going bad?" Holmes asked as he looked around in the fridge.  
  
"What is this?" I asked again angrily.  
  
"And when did we get sprouts, I don't even think either of us eat them, so why the-"I cut off his words by grabbing him by the back of his coat and pulling him back. The fridge door slammed shut as I pushed Holmes against the sink, holding the paper up in front of his face.  
  
"WHAT IS THIS?" I repeated louder. The ad in the 'Lost and Found' read: 'Found- Woman's wedding ring. Found on Brixton Road. See Laura Galahad at 211b Bakerstreet at anytime.' "You used my name?!" I said angrily, "What in the world possessed you to use my name?!"  
  
"You wanted to be part of this thing and since I knew idiot would try to bungle things up if I put my name, I figured your name would be the next best thing," Holmes said calmly, snatching the paper away and moving past me into the other room. I fallowed him, still rather angry at this situation.  
  
"But what can I do when this person shows up and I don't have this ring in question?!"  
  
"And that is where you would be wrong." Holmes, with his trademark smirk, pulled from his pocket a ring, similar to the one we found this morning. "Since both rings are pretty generic gold wedding bands I figure he won't be able to tell the difference at first sight. Now we should both be ready as he will be here at any time."  
  
"And what makes you think he will come?" I asked, calming a little, "I mean, wouldn't he think this whole thing to be a trap? He would be a little stupid to risk everything for a ring."  
  
"I see him as the type that would need to risk everything and anything to get that ring back right now," Holmes said, "When our murderer killed Drebber, he dropped the ring and didn't miss it till he was out and down the street. Then when he realized it was missing he tried to go back for it but found that his mistake of leaving the candle lit had brought the police on the scene. Therefore he had to cover up himself being there-"  
  
"The drunk," I murmured as the thought dawned on me.  
  
"Exactly!" Holmes cried, "And since he couldn't have known where he dropped the ring, the thought that someone found it on the road and it wasn't the police would make this man very happy. So therefore we get this man or someone who works for him to come here and then we get more information on how to trap him. Now do you have any weapons?"  
  
"I took self defense classes a while back," I answered. Holmes shook his head.  
  
"You'll need something a bit more powerful." Then from his pocket he pulled out what looked like a small revolver (I have no knowledge of guns so I don't know what type of gun it was, and I really don't want too) and handed it to me. "Do you know how to shoot it?"  
  
"You carry a gun?" I asked, surprised, holding the gun nervously in my hands  
  
"On occasions," he answered, "Do you know how to shoot it?" I shook my head quickly and he sighed. "Here, I'll show you..." He moved behind me, holding up my arms with his, his hands on mine as we both held the gun pointed at the door. "Now you put it against your hand like this and your finger on the trigger like this, now to shoot you click the safety back and then pull the trigger no matter what happens you got me?"  
  
"Just two questions..."  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Where did you learn to shoot a gun and would you let go of me...not that it's bad or anything but it's just kind of funny you know..." At that moment I looked up at him and he looked down at me, and once again it was like it had been that afternoon. A silence that held a connection that was felt internally...I could see something different in my roommate's eyes, something different then I had seen in the little time I had been with him...The door bell rang and we both blushed in embarrassment at being like we were a moment ago.  
  
"You answer the door," Holmes told me placing the gun in his jacket, the one he had neglected to take off when he arrived, and waved his hand towards the door, "I'll watch your back."  
  
"Oh well that is comforting," I chuckled rolling my eyes. He shook his head with one of his famous sighs.  
  
"Less insulting, more answering the door." I chuckled again as I approached the door. I stopped just as I reached out my hand to turn the knob. I started to think of who could be out there, what desperate crook could be waiting for me to open that door? I took in a deep breath and turned the knob expecting to find myself face to face with someone dangerous. But instead I was met with something I was not expecting. It was a sweet little old lady who stood in the hall way, leaning against her cane as if to rest her legs. She blinked her eyes as the light from our apartment hit her eyes, and with fumbling hands searched her pockets, pulling out a pair of little wire rimmed glasses along with a copy of this evening's paper.  
  
"Does a Miss Laura Galahad live here?"  
  
"I am she," I answered stepping aside, "Please come in."  
  
"Thank you my dear," she answered in her crinkle voice. She hobbled inside, using her cane for each step. As soon as she was inside, she held out the paper to me pointing to the advertisement that Holmes had put in. "I came to see you about this advertisement. I have a feeling that the gold wedding-ring you have found on Brixton Road belongs to my daughter Sally. She was married 12 months ago to a sailor who swore if he ever found her without that ring he come 'ome he do something horrible, especially since he is a drinking man. Of course I knew nothing good would come of Sally going to that circus last night"  
  
"Is this your ring?" I asked giving a casual glance to Holmes, who didn't look to me but was occupied in studying our guest.  
  
"Oh the heavenly lord be thanked!" the old woman cried, "My daughter will be so happy tonight!"  
  
"Do you mind if I ask you what your address is?" I asked, looking up to notice the look of approval on my roommate's face. The old lady blink in surprise but then nodded.  
  
"I don't see why you need it but its 13, Duncan Street, Houndsditch. A long walk I can tell you-"  
  
"Brixton Road isn't between any circus and Houndsditch," Holmes said, his voice cocky in a way. The old lady once again blinked in surprise.  
  
"Well I believe that the young lady asked me for my address," she answered quickly, "My daughter lives at 3, Mayfield Place, Peckham."  
  
"And your name is-?"  
  
"My name is Sawyer and my daughter's is Dennis, as in her husband Tom Dennis. Not a bad boy, but he gets a little rough now and again. He is a good sailor, always working hard, but it's when he is on shore is where he gets into trouble-"  
  
"I believe we shouldn't keep you any longer Miss Sawyer," I interrupted, giving her the ring, "Here is your ring, I have a good feeling it belongs to your daughter and I am happy to return it too you..."  
  
"Thank you my dear, may God look down on your good head!" the old lady said happily as she hobble from whence she came. The instant the door was closed behind her, Holmes buttoned his jacket more and wrapped a scarf around his neck.  
  
"I'm going after her, wait up for me again if you wish..." he told me before he hurriedly moved out the door. I watched from the window as the old lady and Holmes both disappeared down the street and into the darkness of the moonless evening. I watched the spot they had gone from for a few moments before sighing and once again returning to my place on the couch. I tried to read a book but found myself just flipping through the pages, not getting anything from the words. I was just too anxious to see if Holmes's theory was right that I couldn't focus on anything else. As it got later I started to get drowsy and finally fell asleep. But it was a short lived sleep as the sound of a slamming door woke me up. Holmes stormed in, angry as any man could get I suppose. He threw his jacket on the coat rack along with his scarf and took a seat in a near by chair, sighing violently. We both sat in silence once again that day, me looking at him as he sat there with his eyes closed. After a moment I got the nerve to ask him what was wrong, but he held up his hand.  
  
"Please I'm not in the mood to talk..." I stayed silent, just looking at him. Again we sat in silence and once again I was about to ask him what was wrong but he began to ramble off again. "You want to know why I'm angry don't you?! Of course you do, you're that kind of person! Well that 'little old lady' walked down the street and then stopped, showing every sign that her feet were sore. She hailed a cab and I stood close enough to hear her address. She indeed told the driver to go to Houndsditch and after she had taken off I haled a cab of my own and told them the same address. We got there the exact moment that the 'little old ladies' cab pulled up. The cabby man, being polite got out to open the door for the lady but nothing came out of that cab. Both I and the man searched the cab but found nothing. Afterwards I inquired at number 13 if an old lady had ever lived there, but no old lady of either the name Sawyer or Dennis ever lived there! That 'old lady' seems to have just disappeared and you know how?!" I was about to answer but Holmes continued without waiting. "Of course you don't! Because you would never suspect that old lady was not an old lady! No she was a young man, a very active one who somewhere jumped out of the cab without my notice. He must be one great actor to nearly fool me. He also must have noticed me fallowing him and slipped through my fingers! This of course proves that he is not working alone! He must have some friends working with him...You know, it's getting late and I have classes in the morning. You should stop badgering me with questions and let me go to be." Without letting me get out a word, he stood and walked into his bed room, closing the door behind him. I just looked after him, unable to speak as I sat there. I was in awe that he had done all this 'deduction' in such a short time...not to mention was even thinking about going to his morning classes... 


	6. Tobias Gregson Shows What He Can Do

Chapter 6  
  
I sat reading the newspaper that next morning; each newspaper that had any news of the murder had its own account of the 'Brixton Mystery'. Each had its own version of how Gregson and Lestrade were on the trail. At that point Holmes snatched the paper from my hands. "I was reading that!" I said annoyed, but he just snickered skimming through the article.  
  
"I told you that Gregson and Lestrade would find a way to pocket my work," Holmes said shaking his head, "I swear if it wasn't for me, those two wouldn't have a leg to stand on."  
  
"Well that is only if they are on the right track," I answered, "I mean by what I can see they don't have even a half a brain between either of them."  
  
"All I have to say to that is 'Un sot trouve toujours un plus sot qui l'admire'..."  
  
"Huh?" Holmes shook his head leaning down with a sigh. He looked right into my face.  
  
"'A fool can always find a greater fool to admire him.' How you made it here Galahad I will never know?"  
  
"From this angle I can see that you don't clip your nose hairs..." I smirked.  
  
"Well can't say that you're not witty," Holmes answered, his own smirk on his face, "Not to mention nosey and an all around busybody. But I should have expected that from a woman of your kind shouldn't I?" I would have answered with a great comeback if it wasn't for the loud banging at the door. We both looked up, and Holmes instantly sighed. "I told them last time to send up only Wiggins!" Holmes moved to the door quickly, I fallowed curiously watching from the kitchen door way. Holmes opened the door and in came some of the roughest looking urchins I had ever seen. They were all different ages from what I could see ranging from what looked like 18 to 10, all looking like some kind of street gang. One young man stood out to me, as he strutted out in front, looking as if he was the leader of the group. The instant he laid eyes on me, he smiled dangerously and strolled over to me.  
  
"Well, well, well, I 'eard Mister 'olmes was gettin' a new roommate but I wasn't expecting she would be as beautiful as you miss..." He kissed my hand and I glanced over at Holmes. Seeing the look of annoyance and slight disgust on his face figured it might be fun to play it up.  
  
"And I wasn't expecting to see that Holmes had any friends," I answered not pulling away my hand quickly.  
  
"Oh we not really his friend miss," the young man answered, "We're the Bakerstreet Irregulars."  
  
"You are who?"  
  
"The Bakerstreet Irregulars," he answered, "Sort of like the police force except we're employed under Mister 'olmes here rather then the government."  
  
"And let me guess, you are the leader am I right?" He chuckled puffing out his jacket, sort of like a rooster with its feathers.  
  
"I am miss. The name is Wiggins, pleasure to be at your service miss." Wiggins bowed and I couldn't help but blush. Holmes, finally unable to take much more of our 'intercourse', took a hold of Wiggins's shoulder making the other man face him roughly.  
  
"Last time I told you to come up alone Wiggins!" Holmes warned, "I don't like it when you bring all of the 'gang' up here!"  
  
"Well you know sir, Pep wanted to see yas and where she goes Pip goes and then it just grows from there-"  
  
"Don't be blaming Wiggins mister Holmes," another voice from the crowd spoke. My attention was drawn to a figure in the front of the group, a girl with short hair. She could have been a boy if it wasn't for the fact that she was much smaller then most of the other boys and was more curvy. Beside her was a young boy, as I could tell at least 6 years old, who held her hand like they were attached at more then the hip. "I only wanted to see how you were doin' Mister Holmes-"Holmes stood looking at her for a moment before letting out a sigh and letting go of Wiggins shoulder.  
  
"Well next time all I expect is Wiggins and if Pep wants to come, it is only her and no one else you hear me?" Both Wiggins and Pep nodded and Holmes took in a calming breath. "Now have you found what I sent you out for?"  
  
"Not yet sir," Wiggins answered.  
  
"I expect that when you come to report to me next time that you have more information," Holmes said, handing some money to Wiggins and then waving his hand, "You are dismissed..." Wiggins once again nodded and a movement of his head the troops marched out once again. Pep stayed behind, the little boy (I assumed was Pip) still not far from her side. She placed a hand on my roommate shoulder and pushed up against him.  
  
"It was nice seeing you again mister Holmes," she whispered, loud enough for me to hear, "I hope we can see more of each other now that your back in the game..." I couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at the scene, it was very 'suggestive'. Holmes must have caught the look because he blushed and stepped away from the young lady.  
  
"I believe that we will be seeing more of each other Pep but you'd better get moving," he said looking over at me to see if I could see that it was nothing. Pep looked at me too, but it wasn't a nice look. It was more of a warning look.  
  
"Come on Pip!" she said grabbing the small boys hand and rushing from the room. I laughed softly and Holmes grew redder.  
  
"It's not what you think!" he nearly cried as I walked more into the room.  
  
"And how would you know what I think it is?" I asked, giving him a sly smile.  
  
"I know exactly what your thinking and I don't have any attraction to her what so ever!" I smiled more sitting on the arm of the couch and looking at his flustered face.  
  
"No? Well I think she has an attraction to you," I answered, "I mean, you aren't bad looking so I can't blame her...of course you could be just a bit nicer, just might get you a girlfriend if you did that..."  
  
"Well I...I..." Holmes stuttered, his eyes searching for a way out, "I...I see that Gregson is coming! Likely come to tell us his latest ideas about the case no doubt!" Indeed Holmes was saved as we both looked and caught the form of Greg Gregson coming up the street. Still I couldn't help but smile as I heard Holmes's thankful sigh. Soon there was a knock at the door and Holmes answered it quickly. Indeed it was Gregson, with a smile that indicated that he had something big to tell us. Something he was proud of. He greeted us and came in to the room with a skip in his step.  
  
"When I get done telling you about what I've found out you are going to be kissing my feet and calling me a god!" Gregson boasted. Holmes's face returned to a smirk as he took his place beside me, leaning against the edge of the couch.  
  
"Then you found the culprit?" Holmes inquired.  
  
"Better then that, I have him in jail at this very moment!"  
  
"And his name is?"  
  
"Arthur Charpentier, a Lieutenant in the Navy!" Gregson announced as Holmes let out a laugh. In that instant I knew Gregson was wrong, just by the look on Holmes's face. But I figured we were going to hear him out anyway..."  
  
"Would you like to sit down Mister Gregson?" I asked, "I think we would both like to hear how you managed to capture the man in one night, especially beating Holmes here to it..."  
  
"Yes Gregson," Holmes chimed, "I would love to hear how you beat me out!"  
  
"Don't mind if I do," Gregson said with a smile as we all took seats around the unlit fire place, "It feels so good to sit down after a hard nights work, and what I've put myself through it's no wonder. Of course it's not all body work but also the mind right Holmes?"  
  
"Well I don't know much about that," Holmes chuckled. I watched him pulling out a cigarette packet from his pocket and offer one to Gregson.  
  
"No I don't smoke," Gregson answered. Holmes was about to light his but I took it from his mouth and smashed it on the floor as well as taking the pack from him.  
  
"You shouldn't either!" I told him. He sneered at me but I stood strong. "I won't let you smoke in my presence," I informed him and he sighed.  
  
"Been trying to quite anyway," he said sitting back, "But I digress, you were saying Gregson?"  
  
"Yes, well Lestrade is off and gotten totally lost! He is off and looking for that secretary, Strangerson, who hasn't anything to do with what happened the night before last. I have no doubt that he will figure it out soon enough and come back with his tail between his legs."  
  
"And how did you find this clue that lead to the arrest?" I questioned.  
  
"Well, just between you and me Miss Galahad, the first difficulty was with the people over seas. While others would wait for someone to come forward with information, I like to just push on forward and be ahead of everyone else! You both remember the hat that was beside the body?"  
  
"You mean the hat by John Underwood and Sons, at 120, Camberwell Road?" Holmes answered.  
  
"I didn't think you noticed that...so you've been there then?" Gregson asked a bit shaken. Holmes shook his head and the smile returned to Gregson's face. "You should really try to get out there Holmes, I went out to see the Underwoods and asked him about that hat. He told me that he sold the hat to Debber who was residing at Charpentier's Hotel on Torquay Terrace. So of course I went to see Mrs. Charpentier and I found her in distress. Her daughter was with her, not a bad looking girl, she was in just as much trouble as her mother it seemed as her lip trembled each time she spoke. I asked them about Mr. Debber and the last time that they had seen him. At first they told me that they had last seen him around 11 when he left for the train, but then the daughter, being of innocent nature, pointed out that it wasn't the last time they had seen him. Her mother nearly wrang her neck, claiming that she had 'forsaken her brother!' I told them that they had better tell me the truth about what had happened, and after the mother had sent away the girl she began to tell me the story.  
  
Mr. Debber had been staying there for 3 weeks, stoping for a while as he and his secretary, Mr. Stangerson were traveling in Europe. They had just come from 'Copenhagen', it was written on both their trunks. While Stangerson was quiet and hardly a bother, Debber was loud and quiet the ladies man. He often was drunk when he arrived at the hotel and would come back very late at night. His worst behavior was with Mrs. Charpentier's daughter, acting in a way that the innocent young lady didn't understand but caused Stangerson to step in once or twice. Mrs. Charpentier didn't pay much attention to it as Debber was paying her a lot of money to stay there, more then most of the costumers that stay there in that season. Well her son, Arthur Charpentier came home the day Debber left which was a lucky thing because the young mister Charpentier was the protector of his sister as it were. Well later that night Debber did return and as drunk as ever. He was going to kidnap the daughter, 'claiming that she was old enough to marry'. Arthur had to beat him away literally with a stick, he chased Debber down the road and didn't come back till around four or five in the morning. His mother doesn't know what he did while he was gone but when we arrested him, he knew exactly what we were arresting him for and didn't seem to sad about it either. So my theory is that Arthur fallowed Debber to Brixton Road, where a blow to the stomach killed Debber without a mark. Arthur dragged the body into the building, leaving the ring, the blood, the candle, and the writing on the wall to throw off the police."  
  
"And you didn't need my help at all!" Holmes cried, like a proud parent, "I swear Gregson, you are getting better at this every time we see each other!"  
  
"I'm just glad I could figure it out so neatly not to mention quickly," Gregson said with a proud blush, "And all Arthur has is an alibi that he was at his friends home which doesn't hold up at all, so as I see it, Arthur is our man. Lestrade is going to feel so foolish when he comes back." At that instant there was a knock at the door and after I answered it we were met with a very pale Lestrade.  
  
"Speak of the Devil," Holmes chuckled, "Gregson here tells us that you went searching for Strangerson, and we are curious to find out if you found him." For a moment all Lestrade could do was stand there. I could see the look on his face and I felt concern for the man sitting in front of me, his face white and sickly looking. I stood next to him, taking his arm gently.  
  
"What is it Lestrade? Do you feel ill? Can I get you something?" Lestrade shook his head as I helped him to a seat on the couch. Lestrade took a deep breath and looked around at all of us, fumbling with his hat, taking it from his head into his hands. He looked at me like he was about to do something but needed help to do it. "What is it Lestrade? Is it something about Stangerson?"  
  
"Mr. Joseph Strangerson," Lestrade said gravely, "Was murdered at 6 o'clock this morning, in the Halliday's Hotel..." 


	7. Light in the Darkness

Chapter 7

The room became silent as the new Lestrade had lain upon us. Gregson paled to a similar color of Lestrade's face, I looked to Holmes, and he sat there, looking serious but not looking forward at anything. "And the plot just keeps getting thicker doesn't it?" Holmes mumbled out loud, "Can't wait to see what our murderer does for an encore."

"Are you sure Lestrade?" Gregson asked quickly, "I mean are you sure it was-"

"I just got back from his room," Lestrade answered, cutting Gregson off, "I was the one to discover the body."

"Well, we've heard Gregson's view on the matter," Holmes said, grinning slightly, "I think this would be a good time to hear your side of the matter Lestrade..."

"I thought that Strangerson was the murderer, but I doubt that there is a person in this room that doesn't know that. So my first instinct was to track down Strangerson. I knew the two had parted company in Euston Station about half past eight the evening of the murder and then Drebber's body was found around 2 in the morning. I had to find out what the secretary had been doing since 8:30 to the time of the murder and what had he been doing afterwards. I sent a message to Liverpool with a description of the man and a warning the police department to look out for him around any ships going to America. I then started calling the hotels and other lodgings in hopes to find out where he was staying. I also looked for a meeting place in which Debber and Strangerson would meet before traveling back to America. After I investigated further, I got the information that the man I was looking for was staying at the Halliday's Hotel. I got there at around 8 o'clock and the bellboys directed me up stairs to where I would find Strangerson. I knocked at the door and waited in silence for an answer. It wasn't till I felt something wet on my shoe that I looked down and discovered the horrifying sight. A red sticky liquid was nearly flowing from under the door. I instantly called back the bellboys, and after we put some pressure to it, we got the door open. Strangerson's body was huddled under the window, his limbs rigid and cold. A stab wound to the chest, penetrating the heart, is what must have killed him. The bellboys recognized him as we turned him over, but that's not the worse of it..." I felt sick just hearing the story as Holmes sat back, fingers in a pyramid.

"I figure the word RACHE printed in blood on the wall?" my roommate answered softly.

"Correct," Lestrade answered with no surprise, "The murderer was seen, by a boy walking by. He used a ladder to get up through the second floor window but the boy assumed he was a carpenter or roofer at work so he didn't report it. From the description he gave, the man was tall, reddish face, and was dressed in a long brownish coat. The murderer must have washed his hands in the bathroom sink because there were marks of the blood stain water left over. He must have washed his hands and the knife. But even with this evidence we have nothing we can use to discover the identity of this 'madman' so it seems."

"Was there nothing else in the room to suggest the murderer's identity?" Holmes asked. Lestrade shook his head.

"Nothing that is any use to either you or me. Strangerson had Drebber's wallet on him, most likely keeping track of the money and do all the paying. But what I can't figure out is the reason for these crimes! It can't be robbery, because nothing was taken off of either of the bodies and there were no papers on Strangerson's body except a telegram from a month ago with the words- "J.H. is in Europe." There was no name on the message to tell us who sent it."

"Nothing else?" Holmes asked again.

"A novel that Strangerson had most likely used to go to sleep and his pipe sitting on the bedside table...There was a small medicine bottle on the window sill, filled with little white pills..."

"That's it!" Holmes cried suddenly, jumping from his chair. The two older men looked at him in great surprise as Holmes smiled triumphantly. "I now have all the connections I need to undo this tangle of a case. There are details that will be filled in but I now have some of the major problems solved. Tell me you got your hands on those pills Lestrade!"

"I did," Lestrade answered, producing the item in question, "But I don't understand why they are of such importance to you..."

"Miss Galahad," Holmes said turning to me, "You remembered that poor little dog you were so fawning over in the alleyway a while back, the one near to death. Would you please go get him for me?"

"What are you planning to do Holmes?!" I asked getting to my feet, my concern for the dog of course. Holmes just waved his hand.

"Don't worry about that now! We have other things to worry about! Now just go and get the dog!" I sighed in defeat and returned shortly with the little dog in my arms. I don't think the dog had any more will to fight as it just laid in my arms, breath coming out in gasps and glazed over eyes. This dog was defiantly about to die as I lay it down gently on the floor. "Good," Holmes said, his smile still plastered on his face, "Now Laura since you've had a bit more experience in this field what do you say about these pills?" Holmes held up the pills for me to see. Through the plastic container I looked and nodded.

"They kind of look like the pills my dad would use, their lightness and transparency suggest that they are soluble in water I think."

"I guess you are good for something then," Holmes joked pulling away the container. I grew annoyed by his attitude but he just continued on the trail he was on. "Now I will break one of these pills in too," Holmes said pulling out a pen knife and doing just that. I couldn't help but raise an eye brow.

"So you have a knife and a gun?" Lestrade looked at Holmes in shock.

"You have a gun?!" Holmes sighed as he looked at me with warning in his eyes.

"Laura, get a dish and the milk from the kitchen."

"Get it yourself if you are so intent on doing what ever you plan on doing! I'm not your servant in any-"Holmes reached out, pinching my cheeks to make my lips bulge out.

"Get the Milk and the dish!" he told me softly but firmly as he let go. I did it instantly and Holmes laid the dish in front of the dog with a bit of the milk in it. He then put the pill in the milk and it dissolved rapidly. The poor little dog, smelling the food the best he could, lapped at the milk. We waited a while watching for some change in the dog. The dog continued to lay there slowly inch closer to death, but no major change. Holmes began to pace as the minuets ticked on. "It can't be just a coincidence..." he mumbled softly to himself, although we all could hear it, "I know that these pills have to do with Drebber's death and to have them found after the death of Stangerson must mean something...but what? Wait! I have it!" Holmes once again cut another pill in half and fed it to the dog through milk. We watched intently as this time there was a change. Just as the dog had once again wet it's tongue, it shivered and then let out it's last living breath. Holmes's smile grew wider as he sighed in relief. "I should have known that half the pills were a deadly poison and the other half was a harmless. Of course you boys couldn't see the real clue that was right in front of you face. Unfortunately you have made this murder more complex then it really is. I think that your not looking at the small details, that although making the case more difficult, have the power to make it less so as well..."

"Come on Holmes!" Gregson sighed, frustrated, "I know that you have your ways of taking clues and that you a man that is above and beyond in your field. But we need something more then theory to catch a criminal! No we know that Charpentier couldn't have been apart of this second murder and Lestrade's man is now dead. So if you know what we don't know, just say it now and save us all the frustration and trouble!"

"If we wait any longer," I put in, "Who ever is doing these murders is going to have another chance to harm another innocent person..."

"I think we can rest on that account my dear Miss Galahad, because there will be no more murders," Holmes answered, "And as for you other questions, the mere knowing of his name is a small thing to catching this man. I hope to do this shortly but of course we need to deal with this softly. We can't alert this man to what were are going to do or we may have a mess on our hands. So far, he doesn't know that anyone is on to him and if he had any idea he may try to escape. Not to embarrass you in anyway gentlemen but I think that I'd better do this on my own as I think this man is a match for any man on the force..." Lestrade and Gregson didn't look satisfied but a knock at the door interrupted the conversation. Once again Holmes turned to me.

"Answer the door," was all he said. I was annoyed but I did turn towards the door.

"You know, I'm a human being not just a dog you can or- WOAH!" I let out a cry as I was dipped into two arms just as I opened the door. I looked up at Wiggins who smiled down at me.

"'ello lovely," he said with a grin.

"Wiggins!" Holmes's voice warned. Wiggins instantly put me back on my feet and tipped his hat.

"The cab you wanted is down stairs Mister Holmes."

"Good, tell him to come up and help me with my bags please" Holmes answered as Wiggins vanished back down the hallway. He then turned and pulled out a pair of handcuffs from the table near the door. "Now all we have to do is wait, and you will wait in the kitchen Galahad" I pursed my lips in annoyance.

"I can take care of myself Holmes!" I answered. But he just chuckled. That is when another form entered the door way. The cabby-man stepped into the room holding his hat in his hands.

"Your bellboy told me to pick up the bags?"

"Yes, but first may I see you hands?" Holmes asked innocently. The cabby-man was surprised but held out his hands. There was the sound of a metal clink as Holmes's cuffs went around the man's wrists. In a second the cuffs went on, the man began to struggle. Holmes, Lestrade, and Gregson tried to hold the man down but he threw them off. The shattering of glass was heard through out the room as the man shattered the large window with his fists as he struck out at his attackers, sending glass all over the room and down into the street. Once he was able to break away from the guys, the man made a break for it but spotting me thought of another idea. Using his large hands he pulled me around and held me with one large arm around my neck. Feeling his breathing on my neck I went into defensive mode and all the years of women's defense lessons finally were put to good use. I took his arm in my hands and with great force flipped the larger man on to his back, then taking a jab to his crotch with my foot. The man groaned as he rolled on his side, both in shock and in pain. The others in the room just looked at me with wide eyes of surprise. I can't say I wasn't a little surprised myself.

"And that gentlemen," I said defiantly, "is how you win!" For a moment they sat in silence letting me stand there over the man I had just conquered. They finally got to their feet, and after dusting themselves off, Holmes spoke.

"Well we have his cab, I suggest we use it. We have reached the end of our mystery and any questions you all have I will be happy to answer them. Now let us leave before Miss Galahad decides to do the same to us..."


	8. Notes for the Readers

Notes to the readers:

If you've gotten this far just let me tell you...THANK YOU! I have spent forever writing this story, taking notes from the original version, working out scenes, and trying to keep with character names that I'm glad people read my work. I also hope to get lots of reviews to help me. I have a couple things to say at this point...

For all you readers of the original Sherlock Holmes, which you all most likely are, you will realize that at this point the original _Study in Scarlet _, the story jumps to the past with the story of how Drebber and Strangerson became acquainted with their murderer and why they were marked for death. But as I am using the same method as Doyle used back in the day, I'm skipping over these chapters and moving back into the first person narrative. So I'm essentially skipping over all the back history and moving on with the story at hand. If you want to know that back history I suggest you read the original story but for this story it doesn't work.

I'm looking for editors to work on my piece and hopefully update it to look better. I'm not a very good editor and I'm looking for a people who would be willing to read my work and pick out all the little errors I have made. I've most likely made a lot but I would like someone else to look as I often miss them. Please Email me at if you are interested.

And last but not least, I'm working on a HOLMES AND WATSON website and all my stories will be posted there. I plan to keep going with the series, posting each story in turn as they were published by Conan Doyle. I hope you all will keep reading them. At the end of this piece I will post where you can visit the website and you all can see it yourself as well as some looks into the next story I'm working one:).

And now that we are done with that, on with the story!!!!


	9. The Prisoner's Story

Chapter 8

After being captured the prisoner suddenly turned into a puppy dog. It seemed he wasn't the rabid animal we came to believe. He smiled and hoped he hadn't hurt any of us in the scuffle; he even apologized for the moment of lapse when he grabbed me. He complemented me on my ability to hold my own against a man his size. "I suppose you guys are going to take me down to the station," the prisoner remarked to Holmes, "We can take my cab I suppose; if you loosen my legs I can walk down there for you. No use in you all having to drag me..." Lestrade and Gregson instantly looked at each other, this request being quiet bold of a man whom just tried to take us all on at once, but Holmes seemed to have no worry as he removed the towel from around the man's ankles. The man stood stretching his legs out and now as I looked at him, I could see just how powerful he was. Dark and sunburned, his face was filled with determination and energy that I could have seen before if it wasn't for him trying to grab me from behind.

"Lestrade and Greyson," Holmes spoke, "You had both come with me."

"I'll drive," Lestrade said moving to the door.

"You might as well come along to Miss Laura," Holmes spoke, the smirk on his face as he looked at me over his shoulder, "You've come this far being a busybody might as well be there in the end. And you and Greyson can bring down the captive as well..." I growled as I watched him walk out the door.

"He is so brilliant," the prisoner said watching Holmes go as well, "To figure all this out, what kind of man is he?"

"A man with a small heart and a big head that's filled with Air!" I growled angrily as we all walked out into the hallway, "Except for the small part that's filled with that tiny brain of his!" We exited the apartment and were soon standing in front of the man who would decide the fate of our seemingly polite prisoner. The official was a small and unemotional man who peered at us all from over his podium.

"The prisoner will face the magistrates in a week," the man said, with a voice just as unemotional as his face, "In the mean time is there anything you have to say Mr. Jefferson Hope? I must warn you that anything you say here is taken down and can be used against you in the court.

"I would like to say a great deal sir," our prisoner said with a gentle smile, "And I have no worries about saying any of it.

"I think you would rather save it for trial," Lestrade began but the man held up his hand.

"I believe sir that I may never be tried," he said, and then his dark eye fell on me, "Are you a doctor mame?"

"'Um no," I answered, blinking slightly in surprise, "I was a nurse to my father, but I wouldn't really call myself a doctor."

"Then do you know what an aortic aneurysm is mame?"

"A bulging out of the aorta which develops where the wall of the aorta has been weakened by high blood pressure or illnesses like syphilis or tuberculosis," I rattled off like a text book. It wasn't till I finished did I realize they were all looking at me funny. "I spent lots of time reading my dads medical books," I explained, "it's all we had to read sometimes!"

"Well you are one smart girl by my book," our prisoner said with a smile, which had to make me smile, "And yes, that's what I got. Years of living in the mountains with over-exposure and under-feeding have left me with a weak heart. But it doesn't matter now, my job is done. Of course I wouldn't feel right unless I was to leave you all with an account of what has happened. I don't want to be remembered as a common murderer scum."

"Do you think this condition is a danger to the man's health miss?" the official asked, looking to me.

"I'm not a doctor!" I protested again, and I could see a flicker of cold in the official's eye, "I'm not sure, you should have another doctor check it out, but from what I've seen of other cases, this type of weakening of the heart can be dangerous."

"In that case, we will be taking your statement now sir." I sighed happily as the old official moved his eyes off of me, taking the burden of his eyes off of me as well.

"If it pleases you sir I would like to sit down," the prisoner said as he took a seat on a near by bench, "This 'weakening of my heart' makes me quiet tired and does it quiet quickly." Seeing this man in pain hit a note within me and I sat down next to him.

"Can I get you anything?" I asked, ignoring the roll of my roommate's eyes.

"No mame, I'm fine for the moment thank you," our prisoner answered, his smile gentle once again, "But listening to what I have to say would be a great way to help me at this moment." He took a deep breath before continuing on to tell us his story. I later got a hold of Lestrade's notes so I could keep his words exact. "I have no doubt that you all don't care why I hated these men," he said, "I just wish you to know that they were guilty of the murderer of a father and his daughter and this crime had been to long ago for me to bring it to court. Over time I became the only one who knew they were guilty and I was determined to be judge, jury, and executioner.

The young lady I spoke of was to marry me but was forced to be married to the same Debber that you found and died of a broken heart. The wedding ring I took from her dead finger and I made a solemn vow that his last thoughts would be of the crime he committed and the reason he was being punished. I've carried it across two continents as I've chased the two criminals determined to have them die by my hand and my hand only. And if I was to die at this minuet I would have no regrets as my job is done I feel, they have died by my hand so there is nothing left for me to want or desire.

First of all it was no easy task to fallow them as they had the money to travel and I did not. When I finally arrived in your fair city, I was, plain to say, broke. I had to find work and since transportation came natural to me so I turned my hand to being a cabby man. I would keep all the tips along after paying to the boss in the front office. There wasn't much money for my self but I scrapped by. My biggest problem was figuring out where everything was in this city. I had to look to a map and after a while I soon could remember where the main hotels and stations were.

It took me a while to discover where the two men were staying, but I asked and asked and found that they were staying across the river in Camberwell. Now I had them at my mercy, I looked nothing as I had back when we had last met and with my beard I knew that they wouldn't ever be able to recognize me. I would fallow them around every opportunity I got and I knew that they would be mine. I would fallow them in my cab or on foot but it was better in the cab as they couldn't escape me. Of course this meant that I could only collect money in the early morning and late at night as my days would be filled with fallowing the men. I started to fall behind with my employer but I didn't care, I had them in my hands and it was only a matter of time before I could finally attack.

But they were smart too; I don't think that there was ever a time that they were alone. They would always be together and never go out ever nightfall. For two weeks I drove behind them but never once did I see them separate. Debber was nearly always drinking but Strangerson was not to be caught sleeping. I watched them and my only fear was that my heart might burst too early and leave my job undone. I was driving up and down the street one day as I saw a cab drive up to the door of where they were staying. As I saw the luggage come out I felt physically ill even more as I saw them get in the cab. I fallowed them, fearing that they were moving to another place to stay. At the station I fallowed them inside and I found them arguing. Seems Debber still had some business in town, yet Strangerson wanted to leave immediately. As Strangerson argued intelligently, Debber burst off swearing and reminded his companion that he was a paid servant. Finally the secretary gave up and informed Debber to meet him at the Halliday's Private Hotel which Debber agreed to do before he left the station. Finally I had them where I wanted them, alone and unprotected! Together they were strong but separated they were no longer protection one another and so my plans formed in my mind. I had the key to a place on Brixton Road had been lost by a man, whom had been looking after the place, in the back of my carriage. It was claimed the same evening but that gave me enough time to make a copy of the key. Now I had a place in which to do the crime but getting Debber to the house was the real problem.

Once leaving the station, Debber stopped by two liquor stores. Staggering now, he hailed the cab in front of me-"Our prisoner paused as he began to cough. I quickly got up and got him a water from a near by water cooler. "Thank you mame," he said thankfully, "I waited for about an hour before I heard the sounds of struggling inside. Then the door flung open and Debber and a young man I had never seen before came running out. Debber was caught by they young man and kicked into the street. "I'll teach you to insult an honest girl!" the boy cried as he thrashed Debber with a stick of some sort. Debber staggered to my cab and jumped in. He ordered me to drive him to the Halliday's Private Hotel.

When he jumped into my cab you wouldn't believe the happiness that my heart at that moment. I almost feared that my heart would burst right there. But I held it together thinking and weighing my options, thinking maybe I should taking him right out into the country with no one around. But Debber's constant need for a drink once again took over and I was ordered to stop at the first liquor store. I did and he was a long time, nearly closing time for the store before he came out. He ordered me to wait and I would have gladly waited a week because I was determined not to let him escape my grasp once again. I was not prepared to kill him in cold blood. No, there would be no justice in his death if there wasn't something more to it. My years of traveling in America, I had once been working as a Janitor at New York College. One day the professor was lecturing on poisons and he showed his students one that he called South American arrow poison, one so strong that even one grain would mean instant death. I spotted where the bottle was kept and I placed the poison in with a similar looking group of pills. I was determined to use this method as it was much less messy or noisy as shooting through a handkerchief.

It was growing near to one and the night was wet and blustery. But as bad as it was outside, I was joyous because if any of you have ever wanted something so bad, longed for it as long as I have, then you would understand what I felt at that moment. My hands were shaking, my temples were throbbing, and for that one moment I swore I could see my sweet Lucy and her old father staring at me as clearly as I see you all now. I could see Lucy's sweet smile as beautiful as the young miss here, if I might be so bold."

"It's alright," I answered with a blush the shade of an apple. He smiled giving me a sort of wink and again I ignored the roll of Holmes's eyes.

"Yes they were there alright; all the way up till I pulled into Brixton road," the prisoner continued, "There one around and there was hardly any sound but the pouring rain. As I looked into the back I found Debber huddled in the back, finally succumbing to a drunken sleep. As I told him to get out he suspected nothing, most likely figuring we had reached the hotel. He didn't say a word as he fallowed me down into the garden and up to the door. I had to carry him as he staggered most of the way and once inside he complained of the darkness. But soon he could see clearly as I lit the candle and asked him if he knew my face. In that moment I saw his face pale and his drunken eyes grow fearful. He shrunk away from me in true fear as I walked forward, he indeed knew me and as I began to remind him of his terrible deed he done he pushed himself more into a corner. He begged for his life but he knew it was useless and that is when I pushed the box on him. I ordered him to take one and let god decide if he would live or die. He still prayed for mercy but I pulled out my knife and once again ordered. He took and swallowed a pill with me fallowing in the same. We stood there in the dim candle light waiting to see which one of us would see the soon the coming sun. But I wasn't disappointed as I saw the pain in his eyes, and my smile couldn't have been happier as I held Lucy's wedding ring in front of his face. It wasn't long, as the poison worked and he seized then fell heavy on the floor. I turned him over with my foot and checked his pulse. There was none.

All the while, in the intenseness of the moment, my nose had started to bleed but I hadn't noticed it. I don't know what ever came over me to write what I had on the wall, maybe it was a mischievous idea of setting the police on the wrong track. I felt so light hearted and I remembered a German being found in New York with the same word written above him. I guess what had puzzled the New Yorkers might as well puzzle the Londoners. After finishing my work I walked back to my cab and found that still no body was about on the street. I had driven some distance before I discovered that I had lost Lucy's ring. I had reached up to my pocket where it normally was kept and was thunderstruck as I realized the last remaining memento I had of my love was gone. I drove back and left my cab in a side street. I went back to the house, ready to do anything but lose that ring, but I arrived just a little too late as a police officer was already on the scene. I quickly pretended to be drunk as not to put suspicion on myself.

That was the end of Drebber, now all I had to do was do the same for Strangerson. I already knew where he was staying and I hung about there all day, but once again I must have aroused suspicion as Strangerson never appeared outside his room. I think he became worried as Drebber failed to appear when he was supposed to. But he couldn't protect himself from me for too long as I was already forming plans. I found out which window was his and I took advantage of some ladders that had been lying in the street. The next morning, I made my way into his room just at the crack of dawn, waking him with the same coldness that I had shown the other man. I reminded him of his crime as well as told him of the death of Drebber. It was most enjoyable to see him turn deathly white as I described the death of his former companion. I gave him the same opportunity as Drebber but instead of taking the chance of safety, he sprang from his bed and tried to attack me. In self-defense, I stabbed him once in the heart.

There is not much else to say as I returned to the city in hopes that I would soon earn enough money to return to America in which I could live out my days until I died alone to join my family in the sky. I picked up my cabby business once again but I was approached by a shabby youngster who informed me that a man had asked for me directly at 221b Bakerstreet. I went there expecting no harm and the next thing I knew I was fighting with you gents, and then this pretty young lady threw me to the floor with great power I might add. I don't know of many ladies who could pick me up over their shoulders and toss me to the floor so hard. I must admit it was a great feat."

"Well we are still working on if she is a lady or not sir," Holmes sneered. He let out a yelp as I pinched his leg although I'm sure he would never be able to prove it as I quickly took my innocent stance once again. For the most part Lestrade and Gregson seemed not too impressed with the tale of our prisoner's daring endeavor, figuring his story no better then the other common criminal. But I was indeed wrapped up in the tale as was Holmes from what I could tell. There was a silence as he finished talking and Holmes's rather rude comment which was shortly filled with the sounds of Lestrade's pencil scraping away at the paper. "There is only one more question that I would like to be clear on," Holmes spoke again, "Who was your accomplice who came for the ring which I advertised?" The prisoner smiled and winked at my roommate with a near joking way.

"I can tell you my secrets my dear boy," he said looking around at us all, "But I don't have any wish to get anyone else into trouble. I saw you advertisement and I thought it might be a trap. My friend volunteered to go and see and I think you'll agree that he did it most smartly.

"No disagreement's here sir," Holmes answered, a smile of his own on his face.

"As much as I would like to chat all day," Lestrade interrupted coldly as he placed the pad of paper into his pocket, "On Thursday the prisoner will face the court and you, Sherlock Holmes and Laura Galahad, will be required to attend. Until then he will be placed in police custody-"

"May I speak once more inspector?" I asked standing. Lestrade rolled his eyes but nodded. I turned to the prisoner and took a deep breath before beginning to speak my final thought.

"Mister Hope," I said in a half serious but gentle tone, a small smile on my face, "I hope that in the end you do find your heaven, with them, because in truth, in my life I wish that I will find a love as true as yours is to your Lucy."

"I'm sure you will Miss Laura," Hope told me as he was guided away by the officers, a smile on his face as well, "Thank you."


	10. The Conclusion

Chapter 9

We were all told to appear on Thursday but as much as we were ready the court date never came. Jefferson Hope died the very night he was captured, with a gentle smile on his face as if he had finally found the peace and maybe his Lucy.

"I can tell you that Lestrade and Gregson aren't too pleased with the death," Holmes sighed a few days later over a breakfast that we some how had come to find ourselves eating together, "Now what shall they do as their grand finale?"

"It's not like they deserve one," I said handing him the paper, "They really didn't have anything to do with the original capture in the first place."

"What a man does in this world my dear Miss Galahad is of no consequence," Holmes sighed once again looking over the paper as he talked, "Of course I wouldn't have miss this simple case in the world, don't get them very often-"

"Excuse me?" I interrupted him with a most annoyed look on my face. "If I remember correctly, I was the one to get you out of the house and to help them figure out this whole thing. If it weren't for me you would have stayed home that day and still be the forgotten detective."

"I most likely would have gone after a while," Holmes said in his snotty voice, "It was merely a simple case anyway, just a few simple and ordinary deductions and I was able to lay my hand on the criminal. It's what I believe you Americans would call 'a piece of cake'."

"No one ever uses that phrase any more and frankly my dear Holmes I could care less," I shot back trying to look out the window. But he stared at me, and not like he was studying me but as if he knew what was going on in my mind. Of course I knew what question he wanted me to ask, to boost his ego once more and to enlarge his head to sizes far too big to be measured by any means. I sighed finally looking back at him since I know he knew that I was wondering it any way. "I know you're ready to tell me how you simply figure out this whole thing Holmes," I said turning back to him, "Tell me, how ever were you able to discover who the culprit was?"

"I thought you would never asked," he answered smugly, "Well I find the small things that others find a hindrance in this type of work as more of a guide. While some things are notice, I take time to notice the more common things that people often dismiss in their everyday lives. With these small pieces I'm able to bring my deductions together to one single answer."

"Alright I know I'm going to regret this," I sighed once again, "But since I'm now only slightly curious-"

"Only slightly?" he said with a smirk.

"Look do you want someone to make yourself look good or do you want me to kick you where the sun doesn't shine," I warned him.

"Most people need the steps before to bring themselves to the end," Holmes continued, "It takes a great mind to work from the conclusion and to come to the steps in which came to that result. To work with the pieces of the end and come up with a beginning-"

"In other words," I interrupted, "To take the pieces and reconstruct the scene."

"If you want it in simple words yes," Holmes sighed, "Now don't interrupt, it's very rude."

"Just get to the point!" I growled, not believing that he would be the one to instruct me on manners.

"As I approached the house I immediately examined the walkway and as I told you saw the tracks of where the cab had been earlier. I surmised that it had come through last night and by the tracks themselves I was able to surmise that it was a taxi. As I entered the house, I examined the walkway. Of course there had been a heard of people through there already but with my expert eye I was able to pick up the things of importance. I've grown quite good at fallowing footprints, teaching myself in such things before this incident. Now I had two foot prints set before me, our two gentlemen that we now happen to know of. It was easy to tell that these footprints had been made earlier as they had nearly been completely wiped out by the other tracks left by other people. Now I had two footprints, a tall man, judging by the stride, wearing his boots and a well dressed man biased on his small and more elegant boot.

And there they were before me, my well booted man and the tall one was some how the murderer if there had been murderer as was said. I could see by his face, he had foreseen the fate that was coming to him and after I examined the body I discovered a sour smell which made me believe that poison had been forced upon him. Again I say forced because of the look on his face, full of hatred and fear. I came at the answer by the facts alone, not that it's a new thing for people to be forced to ingest poison by one who would wish them harmed. But why had this happened? It couldn't be robbery as everything was still on the body. Political assassins are quick and often leave the scene quickly but my tall man stayed there the whole time. There must have been a personal confrontation between these two men, something that would have brought on this methodical form of revenge. The writing on the wall seemed to confirm more to my suspicions. Could it have been a woman? This was something I pondered as the ring was found. Clearly it was used for some purpose to remind the victim of a woman long gone or somewhere else.

It was at that point that I asked Gregson whether he had put in a telegram to Cleveland, for anything that we might be able to find out about Mr. Drebber's life. After find that he had not I began to examine the room. I gained more information about the man's height, his nail length, and the cigar. Since there was no struggle I knew that the blood would have to have come from the murderer. A good blue blooded can break out in that way, which lead me to believe that he was robust and ruddy-faced. After leaving the house I proceeded to do what our detective friends had neglected to do. I telegraphed the head of the police in Cleveland, paying the most attention to the marriage of Drebber. I struck luck as I soon got an answer that Drebber had just recently taken out an order of protection against a 'rival in love' so to speak. A man by the name of Jefferson Hope and Hope was currently in Europe.

I knew that the man who walked in with Drebber was the man driving the cab. There was no marks in the road to suggest that he had gone anywhere else so then I knew what Jefferson Hope had disguised him self as. He was the cabby man and he most likely was one. It would be foolish to suddenly just change on the spot as it would draw attention to one's self. There was also no need to change his name as no one knew it in the whole country. Therefore I organized Wiggins to get the man here and the rest is history and here is the article in the newspaper." Holmes sighed as he looked over the paper. I had already read it and knew that once again Holmes had found little credit where it was due.

"Well at least you get some thing out of it," I commented about the small blurb left to Him (although the rest was left to Gregson and Lestrade and their 'brilliant skills'), "Besides if you'll let me I might be able to use this to furthure my writing. I could make you the hero-"

"Write what you want," Holmes interjected continuing to read, "It wasn't too hard to see that they were going to do this. It's as I told you, Lestrade and Gregson are only out to better themselv-es..." The sudden break in his speech was thanks to Holmes finally spotting what I had wanted him to see all along. At first his eyes grew large and then he blinked. I already knew what it said:

'Holmes and Watson Private Detective Agency

Any crime for Normal fees and no one will be turned away.

Inquire at 221b Bakerstreet and ask for Sherlock Holmes or Laura Galahad.'

"I was going to take out a full page add," I said, now having my own smirk, "But they get paid by the word and it's kind of quaint isn't it." Holmes was silent a moment before placing the paper on the table and looked at me dangerously.

"I only wished to be left alone," he said, his voice laced with an angry poison, "Left alone in my own little room, with nothing to worry about, and now you are suggesting that people come barging to my door, not only looking for me but YOU! YOU, who are not connected to me in anyway other then our living arrangements! YOU, who have been nothing but trouble! And YOU, who have been just a thorn in my side since YOU got here! You have no right to do this, this is my job, my work and you have no right to put out anything to suggest that you are apart of this!"

"Look you and I are talented in our own ways!" I argued, "I'm good with people and you are a genius in deduction! There for I can help get you work and deal with people and you can do all the work. Just think of all the money we could pull in on this!"

"I don't want work!" he cried voice rising dangerously, "I JUST WANT TO BE LEFT ALONE!" But as the words rang out there was a knock at the door. We exchanged glances of wonder before we quickly moved to the door. We opened it and were met with more of a surprise. A line of people leading down the stairs, out the door, and even down the street stood before us.

"Excuse me," the young lady, who stood at the front of the line, spoke softly, "Are you Mister Holmes, the genius detective?"

"Yes I am but I'm afraid that I'm not really taking any business at this-"Holmes began but his eyes grew as wide as mine as we saw the wad of money that she pulled out of her purse (it was quiet large).

"Money is no option!" she said with a worried voice, "I can pay you anything you want! Please I'm in desperate trouble!" Holmes and I looked to each other again.

"If you excuse us a moment," he said as he closed the door, looking to me once again, "twenty percent and a silent partnership."

"Fifty percent and I get to go on cases and I get to deal with customers."

"Forty percent and you can quietly come on cases, handle public relations, and make guest comfortable but you don't even speak while I'm working."

"Forty-five percent and I do all the junk that you just said."

"Done but I get the final say in everything dealing with cases."

"Done!" I answered with a grin, turning towards the kitchen, "I will start some tea and get some cookies out for the people coming in, and you can start letting them in one by one."

"Miss Galahad," Holmes spoke making me stop.

"Yes Mister Holmes?"  
  
"I believe that you are pushy, frustrating, and most likely one of the worst roommates I've ever had. But I must admit that you are intelligent when needed and I think somehow you and I are going to be able to live together. Somehow, I'm not sure what, but we are going to have to as if we don't we may just may kill each other."

"I'm sure it won't come to that Holmes," I said with a smile, "Now let's get to work. We do have a long night a head of us you know."


	11. Finale Notes

Finale Notes:

Well these are my finale notes for _The Study in Scarlet_; this is the first in a series of stories staring Sherlock Holmes and his Watson, Laura J. Galahad. I assure you that over time these characters will grow and you might be surprised what you find in the end. Here is some stuff you can get from the next story- _Holmes and Watson:_ _The Scandal in Bohemia_:

Holmes and Laura are in a heated argument once again as Holmes is his usual 'slob' self. Laura wishes to hire a cleaning lady and Holmes is completely against it. Meanwhile they are hired by his royal highness, the prince of Bohemia! With such a high rate case on the line you think that Holmes would be focused but a return of an old 'girl'-friend sends Holmes into painful memories and sends Watson into a pathway of discovery about her partner's and roommate's hidden past. Could this whole thing bring them one step closer in their lives together? Or could it pull them completely apart forever?

And with that said I wish to say that my website (that is still in the works) is , so please come and visit my home and see all my works once they get up there. Thanks again for reading.

-Watson


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